


but the greatest of these is love

by Chrononautical



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Ending, Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), M/M, but what if hitting it with sticks was a good idea and worked, show down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27328999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical
Summary: Adam makes his play, but he needs Aziraphale to back him up.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Humanity, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96





	but the greatest of these is love

**Author's Note:**

> Love the ending of Good Omens(TV) so, so much, but lately I've been feeling the need for an angel to swoop in and do some day saving. Please enjoy! Happy All Saints Day!

“You’re not my dad! And you never were.” 

Adam Young chooses. He gives it all up. No more the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, he is an ordinary human boy. Aziraphale feels reality trying to shift with him. The lever of the boy’s power leaving him is long enough. His good, british father is a solid enough place to stand. It should work. For a moment, it almost does. 

But this is the Devil himself. 

Lucifer Morningstar, First of the Fallen, King of Abbadon, Archon of the Cosmos, Him Who Holds the Power of Death, Champion of Demons, Undisputed Dictator of Hell, the Accuser Called Satan, smiles cruelly down at the little human boy flanked on either side by an angel and a demon. 

“Then you are not my son.” The giant becomes more corporeal as he rises from the molten rock and melted asphalt of the airfield. From his very skin, a permeating fear radiates into the hearts of all who would oppose him. The children cling to one another, a small dog yapping from the circle of their arms. Adam’s hand sweats against Aziraphale’s skin. “But you shall be my prey.” 

What could stand against such a monster? Aziraphale asked Crowley to do something, and the demon made his play. Like all of Crowley’s plans, it was a tremendously clever one, utilizing the power of others. Crowley was all wheels and levers, trickery and deception, setting things into motion, manipulating the outcome. Unfortunately, sometimes it wasn’t enough to be clever. Sometimes, you had to back up cleverness with strength. 

Aziraphale liked being soft. He wasn’t made that way. Soft was his choice. When the Almighty commanded her angels to look upon humanity and know her greatest creation, Aziraphale saw creatures who were smaller, softer, and so much weaker than angels. Yet in that weakness, they were capable of treating one another with such kindness. The Christ repeated it later: everyone should be kind to one another. 

Aziraphale thought it was such a lovely idea, and so he tried to emulate that kindness in his own life. Whenever he could do, he was as pleasant and as thoughtful as angelically possible. When he wasn’t paying attention he might unthinkingly plague a customer attempting to buy one of his books, or banish an American soldier back to his own country without explanation, but he tried not to do those things. Aziraphale wanted so very much to be the nice one.

Now, side by side with a little boy and a demon, he faced the very antithesis of kindness and compassion. Despite holding a flaming sword in one hand, he felt absolutely powerless. 

“Crowley?” His voice was trembling. “What does our side stand for again?” 

“Not killing kids,” Crowley growled. “And motherfucking rock and roll!” 

Releasing Adam’s hand, Crowley charged forward, swinging his tire iron at the gigantic horror. Satan, Champion of Demons, batted him away like a gnat. Crowley went flying. 

Adam’s hand tightened in Aziraphale’s. “Love,” the boy said softly. “Just love.” His earnest blue eyes were so wide, a combination of terror and hope that didn’t belong on such a small, helpless face. 

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I love you, Adam Young. And I’m very sorry for trying to kill you just now.” 

“I forgive you.” Although his voice didn’t tremble, the boy clearly thought that forgiving an angel might be his last act. Aziraphale loved him all the more for it. 

He loved all of the humans there on the airfield. The little children, bravely facing off against the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, choosing peace, purity, and plenty for all of humanity. He loved Anathema Device as one always loved the main character in a good story, knowing her well from the predictions of her ancestor. He loved her young man, Newton, whom one couldn’t help noticing was just as handsome as Agnes hoped he would be. Gruff old Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy he loved most of all. Not because of the help they offered in his hour of greatest need, but because they were both so terrifically human. Sinners capable of beautiful cruelty and terrible kindness. How he loved them!

And there was Crowley. 

Crowley, struggling to rise from the pavement because one of the bones of his corporation was sticking out of his leg at a very odd angle. 

Crowley, still trying to put himself between Aziraphale and danger. 

Crowley, always so terribly heroic. 

Aziraphale kissed Adam’s forehead, and released his hand. 

“Excuse me.” Stepping around Crowley, the angel presented himself to the King of Abbadon. “I am the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, charged by the Lord Almighty with the protection of humanity. Given that Adam Young is, in fact, now human, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

“Leave?” the Accuser Called Satan laughed, shaking the ground beneath him, creating a spiderweb of crevices filled with molten lava branching out toward each individual in the airfield. “Little principality: stand aside or feel the flames of hell. The boy is mine.” 

Aziraphale noted that Gabriel took a prudent step away from the crack reaching toward the archangel and Lord Beelzebub. The principality himself did not move. 

“Terribly sorry to disagree,” Aziraphale said, “but he just made himself human. Perhaps you didn’t notice.” 

Curling one lip, the First of the Fallen exposed row upon row of bladed teeth, each fang as long as the sword in Aziraphale’s hand. One massive fist slammed down to crush the angel into the cracked, hellfire filled asphalt. 

The sword in Aziraphale’s hand was no simple blade. For centuries, the flaming sword was a symbol of war, powered by fear and righteous fury. Yet it had not started out with War. It was the blade of an angel, meant to protect. Though banked low after six thousand years fueled only by lesser emotions like fear and mortal grief, the sword’s fire hungered for a stronger accelerant. With Aziraphale’s love, the flames flared upward toward heaven. Long and bright, sword parried fist, carving off the smallest finger from the monster’s massive paw. 

Howling in pain and outrage, the devil clutched his bloody hand to his chest, as a child would cradle a paper cut. “You dare?” 

“I did warn you.” Aziraphale remembered his manners. “Once again, I apologize for any inconvenience, but I simply must insist that you return to Hell and leave this boy alone.” 

Hellfire explode from Satan’s forehead, swirling between his massive horns like a crown. He dove forward, all of his attention on the angel. Perhaps he simply failed to comprehend that he was opposing love. Opposed by love. 

Aziraphale’s sword pierced up through his chin, burning all the way through his skull to mingle with the darker flames at the crown of his head. Pulling it free meant sliding it out from the devil’s face, neatly bisecting left and right, slicing that hooked nose right down the middle. The giant body slumped, falling lifeless to the cracked earth below. Those cracks widened, hellfire burning the remaining flesh to ash as the corpse slipped away. 

For a prideful moment, the angel quite admire his own handiwork. Then he noticed the explosion of brains, blood, and demonic gore staining his favorite jacket. His shoes were positively ruined. 

Mourning the loss, he nevertheless proceeded over to where the Archangel Gabriel stood gaping at him. 

“You killed Lucifer,” Gabriel said, though this fact was terribly obvious to all concerned. “Not discorporated. Killed. _You_ killed him. Aziraphale. A principality. _You_ —” 

“My dear boy.” Aziraphale smiled. He tried to make it kind but felt rather unsuccessful. “As I attempted to say earlier, I believe this is all simply part of the Ineffable Plan. The Almighty gave me my orders six thousand years ago: protect humanity.” 

“Yes, yes, obviously we all want what’s best for humanity, but—” 

“Do we?” Aziraphale fixed him with a look. Then, feeling guilty for the blatant aggression, he miracled up a pocket handkerchief to clean some of the blood off of his hands. “Be that as it may, I did try to tell you. Heaven was on the wrong side in all of this, and you didn’t have to be.” 

“We,” said Gabriel.

“You,” Aziraphale said firmly. 

Gabriel swallowed, and vanished in a tremendously satisfying flash of lightning. 

Aziraphale turned to grin at Crowley, who was sauntering over a little more stiffly than usual. Although he no longer had shattered bones sticking out of his legs, the demon clearly didn’t share the angel’s sense of triumph. He only had eyes for Lord Beelzebub. Abruptly, Aziraphale was very aware that Crowley had openly attacked the King of Abbadon in front of a demonic lord. He did the only thing he could think of. 

Raising his sword at the fly-covered demon, Aziraphale looked into her wide eyes and said, “I am going to murder you!” Then he quickly fumbled the burning blade, tossing it to Crowley. “Oh no! You wily demon. You disarmed me while my back was turned. This whole charade must have been a ploy on your part to gain my trust. Playing the long game, were you?” 

Crowley caught the sword in one hand, but he lowered his glasses with the other, staring at Aziraphale with an angry sort of confusion. Beelzebub was also staring at Aziraphale. 

The angel nudged Crowley with one foot. “Sweet goodness! I hope you don’t stab me with my own sword or anything. Perhaps in the leg, where it wouldn’t tear my poor, ruined jacket.” 

“You know, I just might.” Crowley’s annoyed tone was completely unnecessary. 

“Been plying him with sex, have you?” Beelzebub’s voice was flat, but her eyes remained fixed on Aziraphale’s face. 

Crowley shrugged. “He’s an angel. Take him out to a nice restaurant for a few longing stares and a sigh or two about how we can never be together and he’s useless for decades.” 

“Good work,” she said. “Schtup him if you have to. Hell requires time to reassess our military strategy. We seem to have underestimated the strength of the enemy.” 

“I did file a complete report with Duke Hastur.” 

For the first time, Beelzebub flicked her attention over to Crowley. “He told us you were actively working against the apocalypse.” 

Bowing low with several added flourishes, the demon said, “You have my absolute loyalty Lord Beelzebub, and I am entirely willing to die for the Cause. I simply tried to pass solid, military intelligence to Duke Hastur. He was the one who said I should keep my mouth shut and look forward to the opportunities for advancement presented by battle.” 

Beelzebub bared her teeth, but Aziraphale felt the expression was not entirely directed at Crowley. “We’ll review your performance eventually,” she said. “In the meantime, keep that angel busy.” 

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale was quite delighted by the prospect. “Crowley keeps me on my toes, I can tell you. Tremendously wily. Positively full of guile. I’d have turned the whole world into a garden by now if he weren’t around tempting people to evil and suchlike.” 

Lord Beelzebub fixed him with a disbelieving stare. Then she sank into a pit of hellfire. 

Crowley shoved Aziraphale’s sword back at him. “Stab you where I won’t ruin your jacket. Really.” 

“I know.” Aziraphale looked down at the dark, spreading stains mournfully. “It truly might be a lost cause this time. Demon blood. I mean, that’s hardly paint, now is it.” 

Clicking his teeth, Crowley expended what had to be the very last of his reserves, cursing away all of the blood in that wonderful way he had where a stain was truly gone, not simply cleaned up. 

“My dear!” Aziraphale could have kissed him. 

“Shut up,” the demon grumbled, adjusting his glasses. His own clothing was still torn in several places, and his face was covered in soot. 

Something small struck Aziraphale hard in the belly. It was Adam. Returning the embrace with as much grace as he could manage, the angel said, “There, there. It’s all over now.” 

“You saved me! You killed him!” 

“Yes, I do feel badly about that.” More precisely, Aziraphale wanted to feel bad about it. He wanted to be the kind of angel who would feel guilty for taking a life, even that of He Who Held the Power of Death. 

Clear blue eyes blinked up at him with a lingering trace of their old omniscience. “You feel just right. Other people shouldn’t tell you the way you feel about things isn’t good enough.” 

“Dear boy, you–” 

“I have to go now. My dad’s real mad. I’m probably going to be grounded for ages and ages.” 

At an absolute loss, Aziraphale watched the child slouch over toward his father and the man’s solidly build automobile. As the Youngs embraced, a sudden, fluttering vestige of uncertainty rose up in the angel’s heart. For better or worse, Crowley was right there with him.

“Did I really tell Gabriel—”

“Yep.” 

“And when I said Heaven was on the wrong side, did I really imply—”

“You did.” 

“So that means—”

“We’re on our side.” The demon bumped companionably up against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Always were, really.” 

“An our side stands for—” 

“Lots of stuff.” Crowley nodded to the humans who were all embracing, getting into vehicles, and generally clearing the airfield before the soldiers could wake up. 

“Right.” 

Glancing to the left, Aziraphale could just see the corner of a yellow eye behind those dark glasses. “Come back to mine?” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Right.”


End file.
